


The Fallen Knight

by AquilaTempestas



Category: Dark Souls II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaTempestas/pseuds/AquilaTempestas
Summary: Creighton ends up in prison after dishonouring the Knights of Mirrah.





	The Fallen Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Just another short one shot about my thoughts on Creighton's backstory.

It had all started one night at a tavern in the heart of Mirrah kingdom. It was supposed to be a relaxing night after long hard day training with the knights, but instead it had ended up with him sitting in a rotting stinking cell. He didn’t really understand what the fuss was about – the idiotic knight had started the fight and Creighton had to defend himself. Okay, so perhaps he shouldn’t have embedded the blade of his axe in the man’s head. Nor should he have taken the ring off the man’s finger, but the knight shouldn’t have tried picking a fight with him in the first place. As far as Creighton was concerned, he was the innocent one here. Unfortunately, his jailers didn’t see it that way.

“You’ll be executed at dawn in three days,” a man spat.

It was the talk of the kingdom. A knight of the highly established Mirrahan Order had murdered another knight. Shame the fight hadn’t lasted a little bit longer, but at least he had managed to kill him before Alastiel had arrived to spoil his fun. People in Mirrah were simply no fun at all. They were such uptight people who took the smallest of offences to great heart.

The jailer pushed a bowl of badly cooked porridge through the bars then walked off. Creighton looked down at it. At least it was supposed to be porridge, but it looked more like mud instead. Not really surprising considering where he was - the dungeons of Mirrah where the criminals were locked behind bars. 

The cells hadn’t been cleaned in over a month. He could even see bones of former jailbirds in his cell that had been left here to rot. The Hollows. Undead people who had gone mad. They were all Undead. It was the natural order of humans. But those who had lost their way eventually lost all logic and emotion and became nothing but hollow empty shells. Those who had become Hollow were thrown in cells and they simply just starved to death.

He was about to pick one of the bones up and put it to good use when a blonde woman stopped by his cell. She wore a pointed hat and wore fancy robes marking her as one of the higher ranking knights in Mirrah. What was her name again? Lucatiel or something? A pretty girl. A little naive perhaps, but she was able to fight and hold her own.

“You betrayed the Order,” she said, her tone laced with venom. “We appointed you and you threw all our teachings back in our faces. You are no Mirrahan knight.”

The Mirrahan knights. Oh how he wanted to be part of something greater than himself throughout his early days. He didn’t care about their code of honour – no – he had his own laws that he followed. He was drawn to battle and the knights were the defenders of Mirrah. They were able to kill people and not be placed on trial for it. If a knight murdered someone it was justice. If someone else did they were punished. Of course, if a knight murdered another knight then it was a punishable offense even if it was out of self-defence.

“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”

“You killed five men! Five good men! You dishonoured the code!”

He spat at the ground. A rat scurried out of its hole then peered up at him. A rat would make better food than the slops he was being given now. If he became desperate…. No. He wasn’t going to die behind bars. Not like this. Even the Hollow weren’t executed. They were just left to die. “Those bastards deserved it. I follow my own code for the good of my honour. What? Did you think I’d just let them do whatever.” The fight had started over a matter of social status. These knights thought only the rich and wealthy should be granted knighthood. Creighton came from a low status background. Therefore, they deemed him not worthy. Needless to say, he certainly proved they were wrong. 

Now he was due to be executed in three days time at dawn for breaking the code. The code was simple. Uphold the law. Defend the weak. Protect those who can’t save themselves. Nothing that meant anything to him. He just wanted to fight. That was his passion. Fighting. Killing. It was all a sport to him. The rush of adrenaline. The blood. Oh, the blood and the splintering of bones. Beautiful. There was no finer sight in his eyes than a dead man. Not even the most beautiful woman in the world could distract him from a bloodied corpse.

“You’re despicable.”

“I thought you’d be impressed.”

“Try disgusted. You’re volatile.”

He rolled his eyes. Silly woman. A few days ago she was all over him and singing his praises. Now she despised the very sight of him. What a radical change in personality and it was all because he had killed a few knights. Had she liked one of them? Surely, she’d be impressed with his skills rather than horrified. Really. It had been a glorious moment. The highlight of the battle had been hacking off the finger of the pompous knight and taking his Ring of Thorns as his prize.

“You can have your prize. Maybe you’ll find some comfort in death with it.” 

She threw the Ring of Thorns through the bars. It rolled around in a circle before finally stopping at his feet. He picked it up and put it on a finger on his right hand, ignoring the sharp pricks of the thorns. It was just a bit of blood. It let him know he was still alive. The woman stormed out of the prison leaving him on his own with nothing but the Ring of Thorns to keep him company. There was even blood of the man still on the thorns. How delightful.

He rested his head against the cold stone wall, his eyes closed, listening to the falling drops of rain pelting down on the roof above. He heard the deep rumbles of thunder and even managed to catch a few glimpses of lighting from the small open window. He liked storms. They were violent. Chaotic. He could relate. Whilst some people were scared by the claps of thunder, he found them oddly comforting. 

“Wake up.” Urgent voice. He opened an eye. There was a man peering at him through the bars with some keys. He was dressed as one of the guards, but he wasn’t one. Not a face he recognized. How had he gotten the keys? “I’m getting you out. Better be quick – they’re going to find the guard eventually. The name is Pate.”

Heh. It seemed fate had other plans for him after all.


End file.
